


Sam Winchester Cries His Way Through Sex

by Devilc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He does, oh, how he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Winchester Cries His Way Through Sex

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 4x09. An idea that hit me one morning as I lay in that half awake, half asleep state.

Sam Winchester does not cry when he and Bobby lower Dean into the hole in the ground they just dug for him. In fact, Sam's eyes are so painfully dry that he has a hard time blinking away the grit that gets into them.

His mouth feels and tastes like sand by the time Bobby casts the first handful of dirt on the coffin and mutters, "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Amen."

It's on the tip of Sam's tongue to ask Bobby why he said **that** of all things. It's probably just something that Bobby said out of force of habit. Didn't even realize the reference.

It's just words. Right?

But a twisted parody of the real passage from the book of Common Prayer comes back to haunt Sam as they shovel in silence, the words looping through his head in rhythm to the sound of the shovels scooping and the dirt falling:

_In sure and certain finality of the condemnation to eternal damnation through his lienholder, Lillith, we commend to the Denizens of Hell our brother, Dean; and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Fiend curse him and keep him, the Fiend make his face to glower upon him and be ungracious unto him, the Fiend cast down his countenance upon him and give him torment. Amen._

When it's all done and the cross has been pounded into the ground, Sam ducks and shrugs off the arm Bobby tries to place around him.

When they get back to Bobby's, Sam simply mumbles something about "I'll call you," gets in the Impala, and drives.

Straight to the first bar he can find.

~oo(0)oo~

The days blur together. Drive. Hunt. Sleep. If Sam's not drunk, he's hungover, and if he's not hungover, he's drunk.

He doesn't like either feeling, but they're starting to feel like old friends, after a fashion. In their own very different ways, they take the edge off the world. When he's drunk, he can't think clearly, and when he's hungover it hurts too much to think beyond the basics of survival.

Sam knows that he's going to get jumped one day while he's drunk or hungover. _Get jumped because he's drunk or hungover._

He doesn't care.

~oo(0)oo~

When it comes, Sam's almost glad that it's Ruby who's going to kill him.

~oo(0)oo~

Sam can't believe when Ruby comes back with a new body. An empty vessel.

Then Ruby says the other magic word: Lillith.

The rage and hate flare up and for the first time in months, Sam feels warm inside.

~oo(0)oo~

Through his mixture of half hungover-half drunk, aspirin and whiskey burning a hole in his stomach, Sam realizes that he _wants_ to. Not because she's warm and he's sick of his hand. Not because he likes the idea of sex with a demon. But because it will feel _**good**_, and he hasn't felt **_good_** in a long time. And since Ruby's come back, his old friend, _Wobbling Drunk_, isn't doing what Sam wants him to do  take the edges off the good way. And Sam's other buddy, _Throbbing Hangover That You Deserve, You Useless Sack of Shit_, hasn't been dealing punishment enough.

He believes this what they call "a moment of clarity."

Why not see if he can fuck it all away?

If only for that one white-hot moment of orgasm.

~oo(0)oo~

Ruby's hot, tight, wet little pussy clamps around him and the rest of the world falls away.

Nothing else matters right now.

_Nothing else exists right now_.

~oo(0)oo~

They hit the floor and Ruby clenches around him, bucking up, screaming his name, raking her nails down his back, and Sam's hips jerk of their own accord  one, two, three  and the rest is a long technicolor-static rush.

~oo(0)oo~

Sam's still panting when he pulls out and rolls over, staring at the warped and rotting boards of the ceiling overhead, counting the knotholes. He feels all floaty and he's ... smiling.

He turns his head and chortles when he sees that Ruby's got the same sort of slap-happy grin on her face before her brow furrows in thought, and she reaches over and trails her forefinger across his cheek. Sam nips at it playfully.

"You're ..." God, Sam loves this Ruby's voice, a low and slightly husky contralto; it's the kind of voice he finds absolutely sexy "... crying," she whispers.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Because, like that, he's back in that diner, on that endlessly repeating day, hearing Dean's voice say, "Sam Winchester cries his way through sex!"

That's all it takes. The dam bursts, the levee breaks, there's no point in trying to stick a finger in the dike, because this is way beyond that.

Ruby crawls over to him, takes him in her arms, strokes his hair, rocks him as he sobs. "It will be alright, Sam," she murmurs, "It will be okay, you'll see."

But it won't.

Nothing will ever be right again.

And Sam can't run from that fact any longer.


End file.
